


The Darkest Hour

by LadyWynne



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, POV Jamie, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: Claire is abducted by a gang of bandits roaming the backcountry. This is Jamie's perspective of that event, depicted in Diana Gabaldon's A Breath of Snow and Ashes.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of course all characters belong to Diana Gabaldon. I just wanted to explore the events surrounding Claire's abduction and rescue from Jamie's POV. I am also using this as an exercise in first person. It's not normally what I do, but I thought I'd try it for immediacy.
> 
> SPOILERS ABOUND for A Breath of Snow and Ashes. If you haven't made it to that book please think twice about reading this story. 
> 
> I am on Tumblr as LadyWynneOutlander. The book excerpt in this post (https://ladywynneoutlander.tumblr.com/post/184975466402/an-appalachian-superstition-i-learned-from-my) leads into the story nicely if you want to read it. : )
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Day 1

_Home. Thank God._ The time away had seemed an eternity. The house comes into view slowly through the screen of spruce, homely and welcoming. There is smoke coming from the chimney, the peaceful clucking of chickens, and Rollo, who raises his head heavily from his paws, and blinks, before lowering it to slumber again. We’d barely reached the dooryard before Claire is there. The sight of her, curls coming loose, and her face becomingly flushed from some chore, brings a release of tension I didn’t know I had been carrying, and unexpected wetness wells in my eyes.

Claire knows without asking that the trip was a difficult one. She comes wordless into my arms and I grip her tightly to me, enfolding her slight form. I had been worried, the work of the _banditi_ roaming the mountains in the back of my mind throughout the weeks with Bird Who Sings In The Morning.

Claire tilts her face up for a kiss.  “Welcome home, love.”

It is a rare endearment, and I acknowledge it with a small smile, my arm around her waist squeezing lightly. “Ye look bonny, Sassenach.”

Before we can say more Mrs. Bug is there. Ushering Roger and I into the house. He politely refuses, already leading the horses away, to fettle them and seek his own wife. Mrs. Bug bids me take off my dusty things before coming into her spotless kitchen. Then I am plied with a hot drink and plentiful breakfast. Amidst the bustle I feel Claire’s hand on my shoulder. I reach up and give it a squeeze. Her eyes show concern and a look passes between us.

“ _Are you all right?”_

_“Aye. We’ll talk soon,”_ It says.

-o0O0o-

After some time together Claire sets out to visit Marsali. I think she acts a wee bit strange about it, but it’s no bother. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. I have some reluctance to let her go. I want her near, still harboring something of the unease I felt ever since I left her to visit the Indians. But I can’t very well keep her to home, and likely Marsali could use the help, being with child.

-o0O0o-

I am late coming to the house for supper. The first lightning bugs are flickering under the trees as I wash up in the yard. I don’t expect Claire home yet awhile. She will likely help Marsali with supper and clearing up before returning. It’s a surprise, then, to hear someone pelting down the trail from that direction, and I barely get my arms up in time to catch the blonde streak that is Germain, breathing so hard he can’t speak, face alight with urgency.

“What is it, laddie?” I quickly hand him a dipperful of water from the bucket. “Take a drink, then, and catch your breath.”

He pushes the dipper away.  “Grandpère! Grandpère! You must come quickly. Maman is hurt and Grandmère is gone.”

My heart nearly stops, but I take firm hold of it and go to one knee to be level with my grandson. “What happened, Germain?” I speak the words as calmly as I can manage. I notice how hard I am gripping the boy’s shoulders, and with some effort, unclench my fingers.

“They were at the malting shed. Some men came. I was in a tree, so I could see everything, but I couldn’t hear. The men struck Maman and Grandmère. Maman didn’t get up. They left her on the ground.” At this Germain swallows heavily before continuing. “Grandmère fell down too, when the bad man hit her. Then they took her away on a horse.” My vision narrows, and the breath comes hard in my chest. Germain is still speaking though, and I force myself to attend to what he is saying.  “The clearing was on fire, Grandpère! I had to drag Maman away, but then I ran for Papa.”

He stops suddenly and looks at me, wanting reassurance. I put my hand on his shoulder and say sincerely, “Ye did well, Germain. Very well. I shall give ye a pistol of your own, to shoot bad men with.” I give his small back a pat and stand. Already my mind is conjuring scenarios and possible courses of action.

Ian and Mrs. Bug are on the porch, having heard the commotion. _Thank God the lad is to home._ I turn to him, “We’ll need men. Start with Roger Mac.” Ian whistles for Rollo and is gone.

“Mrs. Bug, go to Fergus’ cabin if ye would.  Marsali may need ye, and someone must watch the bairns. Fergus will be here, aye?”

“Aye, sir.”

I turn back to Germain, who is watching everything. There are still things I need to know.

“Was your mam breathing Germain?”

“ _Oui_.”

“What about Grandmère? “

The boy looks a little less certain. “I think so. She went quite still on the ground, but… _Oui_. I remember she didn’t want them to take her. She was stunned but still she tried to struggle.”

I breathe easier, hearing she is alive, and feel some grim satisfaction. My fierce wee Sassenach won’t make it easy on the bastards. Still, a lass, my Claire, surrounded by murderous sons-of-bitches. It freezes my heart with fear, so I refocus my attention on Germain.

“Where did they go?”

“Back up the mountain.”

I nod. “Thank ye, _a bhalaich_. Have a drink and then run home again. Your mam and sisters will need ye.” Relieved of his burden Germain gratefully grabs the dipper and drinks heartily, pride evident in his features.

At that moment, Roger Mac and Brianna come up and I turn to them as they enter the dooryard. At sight of me they freeze, Brianna automatically reaching for Roger’s hand. My son-in-law’s hoarse voice seems even rougher than usual, “What’s happened?”

I turn to Bree. “They’ve taken your mother.”

-o0O0o-

As much as I want to ride immediately for Claire, sense prevails. I know there is a large group of men with her. I will want the same. It takes some time to gather them, and it is midnight before everyone is present.

“Let’s go!” I bellow at those assembled. They look at me in surprise, some of them in the midst of laying out bedrolls. A few, including Murdo Lindsay ( _bless him_ ) begin to mount up, the others glance round at each other.

I feel a hand on my arm and whirl to face whoever it is, already knowing what they will say, and not wanting to hear it. It’s Ian. His face is grim, but he speaks softly. “It’s too dark Uncle Jamie.”

I shrug the boy’s hand off. “We go now Ian.”

Ian gives me a sympathetic look, which simultaneously angers me and gives me an incongruous desire to weep. “I ken ye’re worried Uncle, but we’ll do her nay good if we break the horse’s legs or miss sign on the trail. It’s too dark.”

My fists clench. _Ifrinn!_ The lad is right. I know it well enough, but every inch of me longs to be off. To be _doing_ something. She could be hurt. If they touch her… _Ah Dhia_.… _Lord, that she may be safe._

I am pulled from dark thoughts by Ian once again touching me, this time lightly on the shoulder. “I ken, Uncle Jamie. I love her too,” his speech is almost a whisper, “But they’ll no kill her, or they would have done already. We must go canny.”

Reluctantly, I give a nod. “Aye. We leave at dawn. Be sure everyone is ready.”

I turn away, off to the stables, not really needing anything there, but unable to settle. I soon feel a presence beside me on the path and find Roger striding beside me. He speaks, not quite a question, “You think it’s the same group who did for the O’Brian’s.”

“Aye.”

Roger nods and his jaw tightens. He has seen. Roger remembers as well as Jamie the burned-out cabin, and the blackened, blistered body of a little girl. He knows what kind of men these are. It will be a bloody affair.

And Roger will be with him. It surprises Jamie to realize that the knowledge gives him some small comfort. Roger Mac will fight with him, and they will bring Claire home.

As they near the horses, he turns toward Roger, and allows some of his gratitude to show on his face. “Go home to Brianna, _a cliamhuinn_. She’ll be worrit, and you’ll need what rest ye can get before dawn” A thought occurs to him. “And bring your _bodhrán_ on the morrow. See if you can gather two or three to fetch along.”

At first Roger looks surprised, but understanding slowly darkens his green eyes. He nods curtly once and is gone.

I stand at the stable gate. Sleep is impossible. I look up at the stars, seeking their usual comfort, but just now I only see the void between the bright sparks, the darkness, waiting for us all. _Ifrinn_. I shake off the maudlin thought and return to earth.

My breath steams out in front of me and I take deep lungfuls of it. It is a clear, cold night. I hope they’ve given her a blanket at least. _Oh Lord, Oh God, that she may be safe._ The old prayer returns earnestly and easily to mind, but I cut it off. She _isn’t_ safe. I quickly amend it to, _Lord,_ _protect her. Let me be in time. Please._ This prayer becomes a refrain through the dark night.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie catches up with the bandits who have Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end for translations.

Day 2

The men and I reach the malting shed just as the first bright edge of sun crests the mountains. The place is in shambles, black with soot and ash, woodsmoke pungent in the cold morning air. I have Marsali’s account of the attack from Fergus, who arrived as soon as his family was settled last night. This must be the work of the gang that has been plaguing the backcountry for months, burning and thieving. They have no problem killing, I’ve seen the evidence of that firsthand, so they have taken Claire for a reason. Bonny as she is, selling her won’t bring much profit, even could they go far enough away for no one to recognize her. _It must be the whiskey. They want her to lead them to the cache._ Claire will know better; the bandits will have no use for her after that. But how long can she avoid it? _I’m coming_ _, Sassenach. Just hold on._

Midmorning we reach a fork in the trail and halt. The gang plainly split up here, but which group has Claire? _Damn._ We’ll have to scout both ways. I don’t want to divide my force permanently, not knowing exactly what we will face. Cursing the delay, I arrange for Ian to take one trail and I the other. We will meet back in an hour.

I try to keep my worry at bay as I scan the ground for any hint of Claire. The blow Germain witnessed could do serious damage, and that is likely the least of it. They’ve had her for hours already.  

 _Lord,_ _protect her. Let me be in time._

I almost miss it. Caught on a swaying branch, delicate as a spider web, is a strand of curling brown hair.

-o0O0o-

We set out once more. There is no mistaking the path such a large group traveled, not that they made much effort in that regard, and we make steady progress over the rough terrain. We don’t stop until late in the day, when we reach a gorge with a towering waterfall. I brought Claire here once. She was enchanted by the beauty of it. Glancing at the steep granite walls and rushing water, I am less so now. It would be easy for “accidents” to happen here. We do find trampled brush and broken tree limbs that suggest some such thing. I pray it wasn’t Claire, and I don’t sit easy until we reach the bottom and find nothing amiss.

Pausing by necessity to let the horses drink, I search the far bank for where the bandits came out. It is easily found, and I start to track a little further when Ian appears like a wraith from the forest.

“Christ, Ian! Don’t do that.”

“Sorry, Uncle,” he says mildly, “I’ve found them. Nay more than two miles on from here. They’re a sorry lot. Must have been a difficult crossing.” He smirks at that.

“Did ye see your Aunt?”

The arrogant smile evaporates. “Nay. I couldna get close.”

I swallow my disappointment and nod. “Ye did well lad. How many are there?”

Ian and I turn back to the river to make our plans and apprise the men. It is growing late. The peak of the waterfall is gilded with the horizontal rays of the lowering sun, and down in the gorge we are already deep in shadow. Come what may, I’ll have her back tonight.

-o0O0o-

It is the darkest hour. Just before dawn. A cool breeze plays over my blackened face, and a strand of escaped hair tickles my cheek. My dirk is in my hand, and it is as if I am in Scotland again. The _bodhráin_ send beats through the forest like the pulse of living things, auld things, and the sound seems to echo through my bones. I give myself over to the power of it. The rhythms increase, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Faster. Louder. Faster. Louder. The bandits panic, sending random balls whistling through the leaves. NOW. I loose an earsplitting Highland shriek and charge, legs pumping, kilt flying. There are similar cries all around, and the men of the Ridge are with me.

I discharge my pistol as soon as I get a clear shot, then ruthlessly club a young man with it. The one beside him goes down fumbling to draw his hunting knife, my dirk buried deep in his middle. _Sassenach._ _Càit a bheil thu?_ Even as I pull my blade free, I am scanning around the fire. There is no sign of her in the chaos. I push down the impulse to call out. It would be dangerous for her to answer. Then the sickening realization comes to me. If she is alive, they may have wanted her alone.

I move my gaze past the circle of glowing embers to the tree line. Across the clearing men are fighting, but others are running for their lives. My eye is caught by one of these, moving with more intention than the others. The man is glancing from tree to tree as he goes, searching for something.

Following my instincts, I chase after him. I move quickly, dodging branches and trunks, trying to penetrate the darkness. The sound of thrashing in the leaf litter draws my attention and I plunge through a screen of saplings. _Claire! Taing a Dhia!_ She is alive. The whiteness of her shift is stark in the darkness. She is struggling with someone on top of her, and as I watch he pulls his fist back and punches her in the ear.

Red clouds my vision. The next instant the man is in front of me, legs kicking the air. Vaguely I recognize him but dismiss it. A sound from Claire and I turn my head. She is laughing on the ground, hysterical, and I return to the thing in front of me. That’s all he is, _mac na galla_ , meat in my hands. I end him with a satisfying surge of strength and forget him entirely.

“ _Claire. Claire._ _A_ _bheil thu beò_ _,_ _tha thu uile_ _, m_ _o nighean donn?_ ” My hands race over her. She is laughing and crying, her legs give way and I support her with my right arm, the left still feeling over her, reaching for her bonds, wanting the reassurance of the physical presence of her. Finally, I simply clutch her to me, pressing her face into my plaid. _Taing a Dhia!_

She speaks and her voice penetrates. I realize the battle is still going on. I raise her swollen, blood-crusted hands and free her from the ropes around her wrists. She is alive, my Sassenach! I still can’t find words, but I gently cup her cheek in immense gratitude before turning back to the fight. 

There are only a few men still struggling, but they are fighting for their lives. I help end it, and soon the bandits are on their knees. I return directly to Claire. She is with Arch Bug, holding a dirk and staring as if she’s never seen such a thing. The look on her face is frightening, so detached, so _NOT_ Claire. I won’t allow it. I snatch the blade from her hand. _Nay. C_ _ha dòraigeadh fuil d ’anam_ _,_ _mo ghràidh_ _._  

Fergus joins us a moment later. The sorrow in his voice is so pronounced it finally brings me fully back to myself. I look at Claire and I see her, really _see_ her, for the first time. She has backed herself against a tree, away from the bloody visions we must present, and stands rigid in the gloom, so damaged and so brave it breaks my heart. She is badly beaten. And the smell of her: sweat, blood, and sex.  

My pulsing emotions coalesce suddenly into lethal stillness. She can’t name them, doesn’t know how many.  

“Kill them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In his frantic desire to have Claire back Jamie returns to his native tongue. I did my best with it, please be forgiving!
> 
> bodhráin  
> drums
> 
> Càit a bheil thu?  
> Where are you?
> 
> Taing a Dhia  
> Thank God
> 
> mac na galla  
> son of a bitch
> 
> A bheil thu beò, tha thu uile, mo nighean donn?  
> You are alive, you are whole, my brown-haired lass?
> 
> Nay. Cha dòraigeadh fuil d ’anam, mo ghràidh.  
> No. Blood will not stain your soul, my love.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Claire's rescue. Can things be the same for Jamie and Claire?

Day 3 

In the pure light of early morning I lead Claire by the hand, wanting to show her the bandits are dead. I cannot take my eyes from her. I wish for some sign of recognition, to connect with her. But no. She is far away. _What does she call it? Shock._  

Her features are distorted under the myriad bruises and scrapes, and I desperately search for the familiar in this vision of calamity. The line of her nose is askew _. Broken_ , I think automatically. Her jaw is swollen, as are her eyelids, and her lip is split. At last I settle on her hairline. It is the same soft pale curve bordered by curls, dirty now, but Claire’s. _Beautiful._  

When we are finished I do as I have longed to do from the moment she was taken. I cover her in my plaid and lift her safe into my arms, murmuring, “We’re going home, _mo nighean donn._ I’ll take ye home.” 

-oO0Oo-

Claire says not a word. Exhausted from her ordeal she dozes sporadically against my chest as we ride. Having her restored to me floods my body with relief and I take comfort in her small form just being there. The feel of her is reminiscent of when we met, all those years ago. She was afraid and alone then. I wanted to protect her. Now I want to cherish her. 

I know some of what she must be feeling and stop at an eddy pool where she can wash in some semblance of privacy. I need to clean up as well and bend gratefully to splash cold water over my face and arms. There is a lot of blood, dried so that it flakes off into the pool.

When I stand I find Claire watching. She hasn’t yet made a move toward the pool. Instead, she steps toward me, stopping when we are a pace apart. She seems delicate, ethereal in the dappled light. I resist the urge to touch her and stand perfectly still. Her hand lifts slowly and settles over my heart, light and tentative as a butterfly. She speaks softly, “Thank you, Jamie.”

“Sassenach,” I move to take her hand, unable to resist, but she pulls quickly back, looking down and away. The action cuts me to the bone, betraying more than simple fright. _Shame? Oh God,_ _Claire._ If there had been doubt regarding what was done to her, there is doubt no longer.

I want to reach for her again, to comfort her, but one look at those swollen eyes, those raw wrists and I cannot. I did not protect her, not in time. I failed. She will not meet my eye. _And now I may lose her forever._  I stand a moment longer. Claire makes no move toward me or the pool, and I go, choking on my own impotence.

I walk only so far as the edge of the clearing where the men are waiting. I should join them, should thank them and speak with them, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. Still, I think I must speak with Roger Mac while there is time. There may be other consequences of the night’s evil, one that my son-in-law is all too familiar with. I summon him with a jerk of the head, and we speak about Jem. Would Roger feel the same for the lad if he knew he wasn’t the father? 

Despite the seriousness of the conversation I find myself unable to attend. I still have eyes only for Claire; and as Roger hesitates, I inexorably seek her, as a compass finds north. She has removed the filthy shift and is turning to kneel beside the water. I feel myself inhale sharply at the sight. _Ah Dhia._ She is covered in bruises: her back, her sides, her thighs. I know the likely cause of each of them. Someone kicked her, used their fists on her. And just like that the rage returns.

My own fists curl as I remember there is yet one potential outlet, one man who can still pay for each scratch and bruise, and without thought I find myself beside the pallet containing our wounded captive. It is Lionel Brown. I stand over him, and I want so badly to kill the man. Kick his head in, pay him blow for blow in accordance with Claire’s mottled body. I almost do it. I kneel and rest my hand on him, feel him tremble… but no. There are other dangers to Claire; the rest of the bandits, the Browns. They may be disreputable, but they are also influential. There are things I need to know. The wretch lives then.

I turn away and listen as Roger gives me the advice I sought from him.

The rest of the journey is difficult. “If there is room for doubt, take it,” Roger said. Yet, how can I? Claire is broken, inside and out. _God, is she badly damaged?_ Even as the lass dozes, she shifts and groans softly, her injuries making the ride uncomfortable despite the blanket under her. _How can I take her like this?_ It’s a terrifying risk, and I’m afraid when the time comes I won’t be able to do it. _I must. I will not lose her._ It’s what I’m truly frightened of; not a child, but that she will retreat from me forever. I have been raped. It was Claire who saved my soul from shame and horror. I must do the same for her.  I kiss her temple gently, and with a troubled mind, I try to prepare.

-oO0Oo-

At the Ridge, the evening is a harrowing collection of jagged fragments.

Claire being so strong, trying to protect Brianna. The solicitude becomes too much, and I feel a moment of gratification when she looks to me for help. I usher our worried daughter out and ask her kindly but firmly to stay away for a bit. Claire will need time.

Claire looking so small and tired, sitting at the table with her head in her hands. I regret my outburst, but I could not stop myself. Hearing it out loud… seeing her tears, the first she had allowed to fall…I would have given anything to spare her. And I will not allow her to blame herself.

Claire shuddering in revulsion at the thought of being with child. Being determined to protect us both with her medicine.

We need each other in so many ways tonight, and we are there in all the ways we can be. I rage, so does she. Tears are shed on both sides. Pain is recalled, used, and some of it, released. We find our way back to each other carefully at first, and at the last with ferocious abandon. She is angry. I am powerful. We express with our bodies what we can’t find words for, using the connection that has often been so strong and so eloquent between us.

At the end of it all I don’t know how to feel. “Safe,” Claire said. If I have given her that then I’m thankful, but I am still afraid she will be changed. She is heavy in my arms, exhausted. As we lie together she seems to sink away from me, like a stone into the depths of a black loch. I want her never to go. Not to sleep, not anywhere.

She does sleep though, and I can give up the strength I’ve clung to for her sake. I weep silently, heart-wrenchingly. I grieve for her pain and humiliation, that she should ever feel weak or alone or afraid, for my helplessness and failure.

When it is over, I lay spent in the dark. Not at peace, but still in my heart for the first time since Claire’s abduction. And she comes to me. She lifts her hands to my face, and it is a balm for my soul. It is the true Claire at last, with her heart of selfless compassion.

“I have been so afraid, _mo nighean donn_ , and I am so very sorry.”

She wipes my eyes and smooths my hair. “It’s not your fault. You know that, surely.”

I give a small shake of the head and she sighs, then tucks her head beneath my chin.

“Jamie, I was so afraid. When they hurt me…” She swallows, and I tighten my arms about her. “You kept me strong through everything, knowing you would come, you wouldn’t give up. And now, being here with you, I think… It will—I will be all right...”

I stop her, rubbing her back soothingly, “Ye will be, _mo ghràidh_. Ye’re the bravest person I know.”

We settle again, her wee hand on my heart. This time, when I take it gently, her fingers curl around mine. “I love you, Claire.”

“Oh Jamie. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with part 3 because I didn't want to draw too much dialogue directly from the books, and DG goes into quite a lot of detail when they arrive home. I hope this is a nice compromise. : )


End file.
